


Silvertongue

by thechaoscryptid



Series: For the Dancing and the Dreaming [3]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: (as a treat), (mostly mentioned), (we can have the beginnings of some magic lore), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Backstory, Gueira heavy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Original Character(s), Possession, Soulmates, Spirits, Worldbuilding, best friends with benefits Lio/Thyma, he's taking over the story and I can't be mad about it, naga Meis, or sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27138971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechaoscryptid/pseuds/thechaoscryptid
Summary: Gueira reflects on fate and family.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Thyma
Series: For the Dancing and the Dreaming [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813180
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Silvertongue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in love with Daran and Shinon, that's all. It's so much fun developing new OCs

“He could snap you like a twig, you know,” Thyma muses, smiling over the rim of her drink. She tracks Meis on his way out the door, Gueira hot on his heels. “Might, if the bard’s mouth gets ahead of him.”

“Oh, it will.” 

Thyma snorts and glances over to where Daran’s clapping a hand on Shinon’s shoulder, the small grin on his face the closest he’s gotten to laughing tonight. It warms Thyma’s heart—even as near as a month ago a smile from the man was nigh unheard of, and she’s not sure Gueira truly knows the power he holds over Inferra’s people yet.

_ There’s power in him,  _ Lio says, and Thyma can’t disagree. It’s as though Gueira’s able to draw out the rawest stories from people with just a smile and a few honeyed words, and she wonders if Lio’s correct. Sometime, she’ll sit Gueira down and ask. 

A conversation for the morning, perhaps, if he’s not had his neck wrung by then. Meis is always tetchy at best as the seasons change, and she can’t imagine being so suddenly realizing he  _ actually  _ has a soulmate is going to help.

She shakes her head fondly. “Is that the true reason you’re leaving? Cowardice?”

“Of course, why else would I leave?” Lio snarks before he sombers, knitting his fingers between them on the table. “I’ll be heading toward Promepolis first,” he says. “As far as I can tell, there’s some substance to the rumors about Kray trying to…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and Thyma shivers as he reaches for her, dragging a finger pointedly down the length of her forearm. “I spoke with a non-Burnish woman who said she didn’t recognize her  _ most assuredly  _ non-Burnish husband after they were done with him, all because he’d said something about us not being all bad.”

“Why?”

“Apparently sympathy is all it takes to make someone suspect,” Lio says, hanging his head. When he looks up once more, there’s steel in his eyes. “It’s disgusting.”

“Well, no use dwelling on it tonight before you can get there,” Thyma says softly. She brushes her fingers against his palms and that steel fades, bit by bit, until she tangles their hands together. “We’ll be all right here. Harvest has gone well, and we’re stocked for the winter. Are you bringing any others back?”

“I was considering it,” Lio says, “but I’m not sure gathering more in one place and traveling would be a good idea. The crown’s becoming suspicious of groups—I watched the guards stop and search a few wagons, and all it turned out to be was a family traveling to the capital to live.”

“Bad choice.”

“Try telling the poor that,” Lio sighs. He plants his elbows on the table and swings their hands idly between them, losing himself in whatever stray thoughts are consuming him. Thyma learned long ago it’s best not to try puzzling out what they are, and so she simply basks in the warmth of him, the tavern, and the gentle flickering of the fire in the corner.

“Come home with me tonight,” he says eventually. 

“Come home with  _ me  _ and I can send you off with a home-cooked meal in the morning,” Thyma counters, smirking. “I’ve seen what you eat when left to your own devices.”

“I have better things to do than prepare food all day!”

“You’re always the one going on about simple pleasures,” Thyma says, turning up her nose. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t have a better day when it’s started with a good breakfast and not three-day-old bread and jerky.”

“I don’t have a b—”

Thyma kicks at his shins under the table, snorting as she pulls her hands free. “Or not, then.”

“No, I’m coming. I’ll come,” Lio chuckles. “What sort of man do you take me for?”

“A fool with a heart of gold,” Thyma says. 

“Ouch,” Lio says dryly.

“Denying it?”  
Lio narrows his eyes, puffs up his chest, and crosses his arms. “Staunchly.”

“All right then, a fool with the heart of a mule.”

Lio’s jaw drops, mind working as he does his best to think of a comeback. Before any words escape his mouth, however, Daran pulls up a chair next to them. “Thyma,” he greets. “Lio.”

“Daran,” Thyma says with a smile. “Good crowd you brought in today.”

“‘S all that bard,” Daran says, shrugging. “Boy knows what he’s doing, and folks love to see it.”

“He was plenty surprised you asked,” Lio tells him.

“Surprised? I told him about the mushrooms half-past the creek, too,” Daran says. “He can’t have thought I’d let that slip to just anyone—how oblivious is he?”

“And you didn’t tell him about the old orchard just above the temple?” Thyma teases gently, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead and pretending to swoon. “Only the mushrooms...you’re a cruel man, Daran, no wonder he was concerned.”

“Better not find he’s gone and taken them all,” Daran grumbles. “Still don’t know I made the right choice.”

Lio leans back in his chair and claps him on the back. “Feed him to Boar if he did.” Stretching both arms over his head, he points to the dog in the corner. “Well, not actually.”

“I may not be the kindest, but I’m certainly not  _ stupid,” _ Daran snorts. “He’s all bones, anyway. Wouldn’t make much of a meal.”

“And here I was, so worried about it actually happening,” Thyma says. She props her head up on a fist and leans into Daran’s shoulder for a second, pulling back with a grin when he reddens slightly. “Any chance I’ll be able to get your help with patching the stable roofs tomorrow?”

Daran shakes his head. “Got some housekeepin’ of my own to do,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the back of the establishment. “Gettin’ the place ready for winter ‘n all.”

“Well, if you need an extra hand, let Gueira know,” Thyma says. “I’m sure he’d love the opportunity.”

“He  _ talks,  _ Thyma.”

“Oh, I know. That’s the point.” Thyma pats him on the arm. “We’ll get you to soften up yet. I saw a smile earlier, didn’t I?”

“Shinon’s got a mouth on ‘er,” Daran says. “Funny one, she is.”

Lio downs what little remains of his drink, and when he sets the mug back down, Daran glances over for permission before taking it. “Is there anything you’d like me to bring back when I return?” Lio asks him. “Food, material goods?”

“If you could find a good book or two, it’d be much appreciated, but not  _ necessary,”  _ Daran says. “Can’t imagine you’re taking too many horses with you.”

“Only two,” Lio confirms.

“Well, if ya need the space, I’ll live with what I’ve got,” Daran says. He nods decisively before standing and walking away, the chatter of the rest of the patrons effortlessly filling up the new space as Lio’s eyes dip down once to Thyma’s lips.

“See something you like?” she asks.

“See something I  _ want,”  _ Lio says, earning himself a swat. “Hey!”

“Come on, then,” Thyma says. “The night’s young enough yet—I’m sure there’s plenty of trouble we could get up to.”

“Oh, really?” Lio arches a brow as they stand, bidding their farewells to those gathered before making their escape into the cool night air. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and hitches his shoulders up as he looks over, face softening in the moonlight. “Tell me about this trouble.”

“Well, I was thinking we could start with a kiss,” Thyma murmurs. She rounds about in front of him and pauses, turning her cheek. 

Lio obliges her, lips warm and slightly chapped as he presses them to her skin.

“And then…” She tips her head to the side with a soft smile, pressing her mouth to his. “I was thinking we can give you a proper send-off,” she murmurs. “How long’s it been, anyway, almost half the year?”

“Something like that,” Lio says when he pulls back, voice husky as he swallows, looks her up and down.

In another life, perhaps, maybe they could’ve been something more. As it is, this bond they’ve cultivated over founding a Burnish haven (with the pleasant addition of the occasional romp) is more than enough.

They’re busy, not each other’s soulmates, and have pulled apart for other lovers through the years before coming back to one another.

It doesn’t mean what they have is any less.

“I’d like that,” he murmurs when he leans back in for another kiss, more decisive. “Let’s go.”

Thyma tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth before pulling away and starting off once again, and they very nearly make it down the street before Meis’s telltale irritated hiss sounds from the stones. She pauses, shoots Lio a look when he runs into her, and puts a finger to her lips as she points in the sound’s direction.

It’s difficult to make out the hushed voices but it’s no matter when, seconds later, Gueira backs out of the alley with his hands up. His voice is clearer as it rings through the street. “All I’m saying is that we can— _ should _ —take it slow,” he says. “You don’t mind the other people here being around.”

“The other people here,” Meis begins, slowly slithering out, “have grown up with me, and I trust them not to be so disgusted.” When his eyes flick over the street, he stiffens when he sees Lio and Thyma.

“Wha—” Gueira turns around, slumping in visible relief when he lays eyes on them. “Oh, hey guys.” He waves. “We were just…”

“Leaving,” Meis finishes for him. He wraps the end of his tail around Gueira’s forearm and tugs as he starts down the street, obviously angling for somewhere more private.

“I’ll see you later,” Gueira calls over his shoulder. “Safe travels, Lio.”

Thyma watches them go, then looks at Lio with mirth in her eyes. “You truly are a dead man walking, you realize that, right?”

Lio shrugs. “He’s made it over a hundred years without killing me so far, and that’s  _ after  _ I nearly broke his tail with that feral yearling’s hooves. If this is what ends me, so be it.”

“I don’t know,  _ I’d  _ be a little upset,” Thyma says, elbowing him before linking their arms and starting forward again. The stars shine brightly down and in the distance a green glow dances along the face of a cliff, Promare playing in the night. When the front door clicks shut behind them, she breaks away from his side to shed her shawl and shake out her hair from its braid. “Coming?” she asks, beckoning to the stairs as Lio kicks his boots off.

“Kira?” he asks.

“I sent her to Lucia’s for the night,” she says. “She’s always happy to learn from her, and we have no interruptions.”

“Good.” Lio catches her wrist on the way up and tugs her gently backwards, leaning up on his tiptoes to account for the stairs as he winds his arm around her neck and draws her into a kiss. It spreads a low-burning warmth through her core, radiating outward as she steps down into his arms. The kiss lacks the usual passion Lio so often burns with, more gentle and less insistent, and Thyma takes a second to tuck his hair behind his ears when they part.

“Are you all right?” she asks. “Truly?”

“Can’t we take it slow on occasion?” he murmurs, but averts his gaze when she sets her mouth. “I  _ may  _ be preoccupied with what I’ll find when I begin my inquiries again, but you’re right. There’s no need to make judgments before I see for myself.” He slides his hands up to cradle her face, pressing his forehead to hers. “You wouldn’t begrudge a man some simple intimacy, would you?”

“Ah,” Thyma breathes, skimming her lips across his jaw and resting them against his pulse as she hugs tighter. “I think...I can give you  _ exactly  _ what you need to take your mind off what ails you. Let me be your rock for tonight.”

And Lio says yes, in that breathless tone she loves to wring from him, because that is what this was, is, and will forever be—an exchange of trust in all things, something to fall back on even when everything else becomes too much.

Theirs, and Thyma wouldn’t change a damned thing about it.

**

In the street, Gueira grunts softly as Meis tugs him away from prying eyes, only seconds before planting his feet in the ground and stopping for good. “You can just  _ ask  _ to leave with me next time, you know,” he says sourly. “I’m not so unreasonable, especially since you  _ were  _ implying maybe I could come get to know you better.”

Meis blinks at him once, twice, then scrunches his nose. The scales on his forehead bunch together and he scrubs the back of his hand against them, irritated. “You don’t need to, if you’re so uncomfortable. I’d much rather be alone than with someone who’s unsure they can be around me.”

_ Hells,  _ Gueira thinks. It’s one thing to woo a person, to tantalize, but  _ fuck  _ if Meis isn’t going to make it the most difficult task he’s faced so far.

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, he leans against the side of the building. “Look. Why don’t we give it a few days? We can both think on it, and I don’t need to come with if  _ you’re  _ uncomfortable, or—hells, I don’t fucking know. I just—I  _ want  _ to, I want to know things,  _ you _ , but it’s...”

“Mm.”

“So…” Gueira takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it as he exhales sharply. “I guess if you want, you can have the book? Learn on your own. I’m sure I can scrounge up paper from somewhere.”

Meis ducks his head, pulling the shawl tighter around his shoulders. “You don’t need to,” he says, though seemingly not without difficulty. “I can wait.” When he makes to slither past, Gueira stops him with an arm across his chest. “What?”

“I could  _ tell _ you about Miami later,” Gueira says. “And you could tell me about yourself. Back and forth.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t need to be at your place,” Gueira mumbles to the ground. “We can go back inside, or you can come with me to my rooms, or we could do it later, out in the fields.”

“It’s too cold in the field,” Meis says.

“Somewhere warm, then,” Gueira counters. “Or perhaps in the sun tomorrow, if that pleases you.”

Meis shakes his head. “You can come with me later this week,” he says. “Or,  _ to  _ me. I need some time.” He rests two fingers on his jaw. “But regardless, I am leaving.”

“That hungry?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Meis corrects, and Gueira winces. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not—you’re—” Meis huffs and whacks the end of his tail against the ground, startling a nearby squirrel who takes to the rooftops. He growls, and it trails off into a short whine as his eyes snap back to Gueira’s. “It’s too much at once, and I’m bad at...this. Humans. I prefer Kascha, or Lio, or Thyma.”

“Ah,” Gueira says, softening as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “You’re  _ shy.” _

“I’m used to being on my own.”

“Go on, then,” Gueira says. The hurt’s bleeding incrementally out of him, and he tips his head toward the road down the mountain. “And I’ll leave it up to you. If you’d like me to come to you, you can...oh, I don’t know, hang the scabbard you took from the cliffside? I wouldn’t want to lose the sword, and besides, I’ve been meaning to get a look at some of what’s down there. I suppose this week I’ll explore.”

“The scabbard,” Meis repeats with a nod. “If you see it, come when it’s sunny.”

“Because you’re too cold otherwise.”

Meis gives another half-nod before wandering off, arms clasped tight to his chest as though he’s shielding himself from some invisible enemy. It’s clear that none of Gueira’s tried and true techniques will work here, especially when Meis seems so divided on what he desires.

When he’s completely disappeared from view, Gueira turns back toward the tavern, then toward his rooms. The joy burning in him has been thoroughly tamped down and though it’s not  _ impossible _ to perform in such a state, he decides he’s already done enough for the night. 

The unfortunate truth of the matter, though, is that he can’t stop the anxiety that rises in him at the thought that his soulmate might not want him after all. It’s always seemed silly to him, the notion of fate and bonds—something to sing of, not experience for himself. But Meis’s voice tangling with his, drawing out an age-old not-quite-peace from somewhere deep within…

Fleeting as the feeling was, he can’t imagine living the rest of his life knowing that such a feeling had once slipped through his grasp all because he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out how worried he was about being with someone so different.

_ Stupid. Don’t you ever learn?  _ he hears, the angry hiss of his father’s voice quiet as it ripples below the wind rustling through the trees.  _ Better to stay silent, boy. You don’t know what destruction you’re capable of. _

Gueira shivers before scrubbing both palms down his face, yelping in surprise when a hand settles on his shoulder. A strong arm blocks his when he automatically swings, and Shinon wraps her hand around his curled fist.

“Oh,” he breathes out shakily. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

“That’s what you get for ruminating,” Shinon says, lips quirking up in a lazy grin. “Not like you, Gueira, where’s your head at?”

“Far, far away,” he chuckles. “Simpler times.”

“Scowling like that? I doubt it,” she says.

“Well, I didn’t say  _ easier,”  _ Gueira says. He offers up his arm, and Shinon takes it without complaint as they begin toward her house down the way. “No Rei tonight?”

“He and Cyran’ll be occupied for a while. Jissa got them started on sparring techniques, and you know how they love to argue.” Shinon rolls her eyes affectionately before patting his hand. “And you’d think Rei would  _ always  _ win, being married to me of all folks, but he gets talking and he’s so easily distracted.”

“Must be nice, having found him,” Gueira says. He casts his gaze on the ground ahead, lip tucked between his teeth as he considers how to phrase his questions.

“Spit it out.”

“Did you have any trouble in the beginning?” he asks.

“Oh,  _ did  _ we,” she says. The town center approaches and when she pulls him toward one of the benches lining the area, he goes willingly. She lets him go and knits her hands behind her head, looking up at the stars as she thinks. “We found one another on accident, actually. I’d been at the market and was coming home angry and empty-handed, because prices kept rising and my mum wasn’t getting paid any more than she usually was. As I was walking, I was singing to myself. I imagine you do it as well. It’s comforting, is it not? Singing your song.”

“Incredibly.”

Shinon nods. “Wasn’t expecting a merchant boy in one of the stalls I was passing to pick up on it, I’ll tell you what.”

“Oh, no,” Gueira says.

“I  _ certainly _ wasn’t about to admit that my soulmate was some rich prick by the wayside,” Shinon snorts, grinning as she covers her mouth with a hand. “He followed me all the way home and I chased him off with a broom! Mum was  _ furious,  _ told me I’d better go apologize, but I didn’t plan on doing  _ that.” _

“Did you, though?”

“Not at first. As you can imagine, being screamed out of the yard didn’t sit too well with him,” she says. “And so it was...a challenge, realizing eventually that he wasn’t this monstrous man and I was more than some witch with an axe to grind. But, as romance does, it started slow. 

“Oh, there were plenty of spats between our first meeting and when we started to even consider each other friends, but all it took was time. Well, and frequent reminders from my mother that eventually I was going to die old and alone if I didn’t make my way back to him. ‘You’ll be an old maid before long, Shinon,’ she’d tell me, like that was some death sentence.

“But then…” Shinon’s smile fades, her hand lighting up pink as she summons flames into her palm. “We were having a row over something stupid, mum and I, and I got so  _ angry.  _ Before I knew it, the house was ablaze, and I had nowhere else to go. No friends to speak of, no one else I trusted, and so I showed up on Rei’s doorstep, looking like I’d gone through all the hells and back.”

“I suppose you had,” Gueira says softly, and Shinon hums as she leans into his shoulder.

“I was expecting him to turn me in to Kray, honestly,” she says. “I was ready to do it to myself. But he took me in, didn’t ask questions, patched my wounds, and I—I’d never really  _ had _ that before. And when I asked him why, he looked me dead in the face and said, ‘It figures my soulmate would have such a fiery disposition.’”

Gueira bites his tongue against the laugh that threatens to burst out of him.

Shinon snickers when she realizes this. “It’s okay, I laughed too. What else could I do, at that point? My home was gone along with my family, there I was with someone who held my life in their hands, and he was  _ joking.  _ I had my mother’s blood on my hands, and all I could do was laugh at this stupid man and his stupid fucking joke, and of  _ all  _ the things, that’s what turned the tide for us.”

“Quite the story,” Gueira says. He slumps lower on the bench and throws an arm over his face, groaning. “Unfortunately, I don’t think setting something on fire’ll work for me.”

“You’ve met yours?” she asks, and Gueira nods. “Who?”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Don’t tell me it’s Lio, and that he’s found someone after all these years,” she says.

Gueira barks out a laugh, nearly choking on it before he gets himself under control. “Fuck, no. Not Lio.”

“Thyma?”

“Nah.”

“Meis left pretty quickly after you two had that stare-down while you were singing tonight,” Shinon says, and Gueira feels a flush spread through his face and down into his neck before he can tamp it down. “Meis!” she continues. “Well, it certainly stands why you’re concerned.”

“Is he that bad?”

“On the contrary,” Shinon says. “Meis is fantastic, and he knows what he wants. I don’t envy you having to prove you’re worth more than what he’s cultivated for himself here.”

“Lovely,” Gueira groans.

“Oh, he will be, if you can manage it.” Shinon winks when Gueira shoots her a half-hearted glare. “Just take it slow. Pushing him isn’t the way to get what you want, yeah?”

“Right,” he says.

Shinon gets up, motioning for Gueira to stay where he is when he moves to follow her. “I’ll get home all right,” she says. “In the meantime, I suggest you get some sleep. You look like you’re about dead on your feet.”

“I’ll try,” he says. “No promises.”

“Did I ask for any?” 

“Nope.”

“Pleasant dreams, Gueira,” Shinon says, and then he’s alone, again.

It’s not good to be alone for too long, he’s found. The world begins to eat at you, quiet whispers eroding the mind’s insulation of happiness and light until only the bare bones of struggle are left, and he’s never found it in himself to simply resign himself to that. It was part of the reason he began traveling, after all—if others’ stories live on inside of you, you can draw upon their joy, their sadness, their anger.

A bard’s life is filled with secrets and song, even if spreading people’s stories costs you the life you once knew. He wishes that his father had understood that, rather than running him off so soon after he discovered his voice. The sting hasn’t faded yet, the knowledge that he’s always been the child scorned simply because his  _ ability  _ wasn’t really an ability at all, just a talent that paled in comparison to his sister’s taming of the sea.

Miami was as bright as the Proma Mountains, the sun shining off of crystal-clear water instead of dark rock. Everyone had a story to tell, from the wealthiest merchants making their way into port to the lowliest of street children bartering words for clean water. Gueira has plenty of fond memories of days spent in the streets and perched atop the roof of his childhood home to watch the comings and goings of ships in the harbor.

He misses sitting there with Ifri and listening to her natter on about whatever boy she was fancying that week.

( _ See that ship?  _ she’d ask him, pointing to the distant horizon.  _ I bet there’s a man come to take me away from here, to give me silks and jewels. _

_ As if you wouldn’t leap into the sea and ruin them in seconds,  _ he always said, because if his sister was one thing, it was adventurous.  _ Who’d spend the money only to have it ruined? _

And she’d inevitably snipe back with some comment about how he was  _ so mean  _ and she hopes he never meets his soulmate, and their world was easy.

_ Was.) _

Sometimes, when their parents had long since gone to bed, she’d tell him tales of long ago and far away, things no person could hope to see in their lifetime.  _ Don’t tell Father,  _ she’d say, because fewer things were more dangerous than his wrath. 

Being one with the water was all right, if they kept it quiet.

Telling stories earned Gueira the belt, and even now, he can’t fathom why  _ words  _ of all things are so dangerous. It’s not as though there’s anything special about story and song—it’s only something that brings him peace.

Sighing, he pulls out his songbook, flicking through the pages in the moonlight until the writing ends and he’s left staring at a blank page. He hasn’t set her story to paper yet, even though it’s been nearly ten years. He hasn’t had the words. What can he possibly say about someone who’s no longer within his grasp, someone who—his parents made it more than clear—he has no business thinking about aymore?

Her name sticks on his tongue and yet he aches with the want to tell someone,  _ anyone,  _ about the way her hair rippled in the breeze, and about the sound of her screams as she was dragged away to places unknown. She was his twin, after all, half of his heart, and it’s impossible to forget the feeling of that bond being severed because he’d placed too much faith in others being able to hold their tongues.

He slams the book shut and exhales sharply, shaking away the memory of her eyes as she’d reached for him one last time.

She’s gone, and he’s been threatened with the worst should his parents ever see his face again. 

Best to just give it up.

Gueira swallows and blinks heavily as the edges of his vision begin to flicker. “Fuck,” he murmurs, wiping his face with the back of a hand. The flickering remains, however, and he glances over to see a blue flame dancing over the stones of the well a few feet away. “Oh,” he says softly. He extends a hand, palm up. “I promise I’m safe.”

It’s as though the flame’s a wary beast, moving slowly toward him. If he had to guess, he’d wager it’s cautious curiosity in the flickering light reaching toward his fingers. When he holds his breath, it halts.

“It’s all right,” he continues. “I may not be Burnish, but I’d love to hold you.”

It begins to move again, in a wide arc around him, and he pulls his arm back before realizing it’s moving toward a companion. 

“Two?” he asks. It’s still strange, speaking to flames, but they draw closer with every word, so he continues. “Hello.” He pulls one foot up to the bench and rests his chin on his free hand as he keeps the other extended. “Would you like to hear about the world past the mountains? I promise they’re good tales. Or, well...they’re tales, at least.”

When they’re joined by a third, he slowly pulls his hand back and sits up straight, clearing his throat. With a deep breath, he begins to weave the tale of his homeland. He speaks of Ifri, of the secrets whispered in dark alleys and tavern corners, and of the distrust his parents showed toward his craft.

“There was a man,” he says, gazing up at the moon. “There was a man, and there was a grudge, and that grudge was against Ifri simply because of what she was. Because his own daughter wasn’t like her, couldn’t do the same things. I suppose, all things considered, she wasn’t too different from the Burnish.” 

He reaches up and mimes falling rain with his fingers, from above his head to gently pattering on the ground. She’d taken to water like she was born from it, and it obeyed her commands without any hesitation. There were more than a few jokes over the years about how she must be descended from the sirens of old, but eventually jokes turned to jealousy, and that power became something for others to destroy.

“It was my fault she was taken,” he says, settling back. “I mean, if everyone tells you their stories, sometimes things slip. The wrong people get angry about a song, a dance, maybe a look. And when people get angry, well...” He inhales shakily. “When they get angry, they don’t care who they hurt, do they?”

The flames draw nearer by inches, a soft and gentle warmth against his feet as the autumn wind blows through the square. He’s not worried. They don’t seem angry, only curious, and their heat is a boon as it warms his toes.

“We were fourteen when these... _ animals  _ came to our house. And this was long before I’d heard whispers of the Burnish, or any other sort of magic users, mind you. I didn’t know there was a  _ reason  _ she was kept so secret.

“They broke in and insisted it was the will of a king that she be taken. They said she’d be given the finest life and education, because she was  _ special.”  _ He spits the word into the open air, eyes screwed shut. “And she went, you know? She’d been dreaming of this day for so long. But when she looked into my eyes and told me not to worry, I saw she was lying through her teeth. She didn’t want it now. But what can you do when armed guards show up and insist?”

When he opens his eyes, it’s to the sight of his hand wreathed in miraculously cool flames, and he freezes. So do the Promare.

“Hi,” he rasps, throat suddenly dry as the desert to the west. “I, um—” He blinks once, slowly, as the flame inches up his wrist. “I think I’m a little less scared now than she was.” His heart thunders in his chest, breath shallow in his lungs as another hugs his foot, and yet another wraps around his book. It gives a gentle pulse of heat, almost like a guiding touch, and when Gueira opens it, the circle around him glows brighter.

“You want a song? A story?”

Another heated squeeze.

“Well, I guess you can’t really request any specifics,” he starts, keeping careful track of the way a Promare winds around his back. The hair on his nape stands with the sensation of it spreading across his skin, an almost childlike presence as it sifts through his hair and settles along the line of his jaw. “Unless you’re here to guide me.”

The wind whispers through the square again, carrying with it the sound of faint laughter. He’s not sure it’s coming from somewhere in town, and when he goes to shake his head, he finds himself immobile as the laughter’s pitch increases.

“Stop,” he breathes. “I’m not dangerous, I  _ swear,  _ just— _ oh.” _

The houses of Inferra fade away, replaced by rolling green hills dotted with sheep. The sun hangs low over the horizon to paint the world in gold, and all around him deep green leaves whisper in a phantom breeze. The laughter is  _ his— _ or, whoever he’s become. In any case, it  _ is  _ that of a child.

And then, the music begins. It’s a simple melody, and it echoes off the mountainsides as it calls Gueira and the animals home. Something in him blooms warm, a soft resonance low near the base of his spine as he sinks into the sound. His body all but sings with adoration as he (they? He’s not sure how to put it, being in someone else’s body) jumps down from the tree and begins to run toward the small cottage down the way. As he goes, the feeling only strengthens, and as they draw nearer to the shepherd at the door, the shepherd’s face twists with terror just before a massive pillar of flame hits the ground between them.

_ “Cori!”  _ the man screams, nearly drowned out by the beat of massive wings descending from the sky. Gueira—Cori—looks up to see beastly talons extended, and then the sheep are pinheads against the green as he’s whisked into the sky. He cries out and slams a fist down on the claws wrapped around him, the blood-red scales of the beast’s foot, to no avail. It only tightens and as they climb higher, the world below fades quickly to black.

Gueira’s shocked out of the dark by someone shaking him hard enough to snap his head forward. He blinks rapidly until his vision clears and he’s left staring at his own face, wreathed in flames, reflected in Rei’s eyes. 

Then Rei’s, replaced by forests, then rivers, skies of brightest blue as he stands atop a snowy peak, hand on a shaggy dog’s head as he watches the slopes below melt away under pink and green flames. He’s barely able to acquaint himself with each new environment before something else takes its place and by the time he’s back in Inferra once more, he’s on his hands and knees trying not to retch.

“What’s happening?” he gasps, curling forward until his head rests on the stone. “Stop. This isn’t—I’m not— _ why?” _

“That ain’t normal, bard,” Rei says shakily. 

“Dragon. There was a dragon, and a dog, and a—this big—big—” Gueira squeezes his eyes shut before opening them with a whine. “Everything was burning.”

“Fuck’s the matter?” Jissa snaps from his other side, ever the charmer. “You’re not  _ what?” _

_ “Special,  _ I’m not special, I’m not like her, can’t do magic,” Gueira babbles, shifting back to sit on his haunches, head in his hands. “I was just talking. Just talking, I swear, this has never happened in my  _ life—” _

More footsteps approach, Lio’s voice reaching over the gathering crowd before he kneels in front of Gueira. “What happened?” he asks, and Rei answers for Gueira.

“Found him on the bench,” he says. “Looked like he was burnin’ up, but then he opened his eyes and it wasn’t  _ him  _ in there. Looked almost...possessed, I suppose, by one of the Promare.”

“Gueira?” Lio says, carefully extending a hand toward him. There’s no sign of any Promare left in the square, something Gueira’s grateful for as he wraps his arms around himself and leans into Lio’s touch.

“I was just talking,” he whispers. “Telling them about m-my sister. And they gathered on my songbook, then on  _ me,  _ and then…”

Lio sets his lips in a thin line before he urges Gueira to get up, motions the rest away. “I’ll handle it,” he says. “Please, go home, all of you.” There’s scattered murmurs of unease and discontent, but within a few seconds, Gueira and Lio are along. “Well,” Lio says, voice heavy. “I suppose we have some talking to do before I leave, don’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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